


The Making of a Great Great-Grandfather

by Alisanne



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Community: hp_goldenage, M/M, Mild Angst, Mpreg, Offscreen character death, dramatic!draco
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-03-13
Updated: 2018-03-13
Packaged: 2019-03-22 14:44:39
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,943
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13766352
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Alisanne/pseuds/Alisanne
Summary: Becoming a grandfather is one thing. Becoming a great-grandfather is something else entirely.





	The Making of a Great Great-Grandfather

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks to the Salt and Pepper Fest mods for their patience and encouragement, and to my beta-readers for their expert assistance. The prompter wanted dramatic!Draco and a humorous tone, I hope this satisfies!

~The Making of a Great Great-Grandfather~

Strolling through Diagon Alley, Draco catches a glimpse of himself in Flourish and Blotts’ window and he hums in satisfaction. From a distance he could be mistaken for his father at the height of his power. Well, with slightly less hair perhaps, but his Hair Replenishing Potion does seem to be keeping what’s left intact, and the judicious application of some small Glamours do the rest. And as for his body…well, he’s made sure to keep up a regular exercise regimen. No one could find fault with his trim figure. He looks good for a man in his sixties, if he does say so himself.

“Mr Malfoy,” says a vaguely familiar-looking man dressed in Ministry robes, tipping his hat as he approaches.

Draco inclines his head, smiling while his mind races. Hopkins? Hoskins? He’s obviously a Ministry worker — unfortunately, Draco can’t recall which department he’s in — but it’s always best to be civil. One never knows who will rise to power in future. “Nice to see you, Ho…kins,” Draco says, slurring the name.

Happily, it’s good enough. “And you,” Hop or Hoskins says, beaming as he continues on his way.

Exhaling, Draco strides across the street towards his goal. He really should study the Ministry’s roster the way his father did, if only so he gets better at recognising the power players. Although, as Draco sweeps into a tea house and sees his lover waiting for him, he hums. He does seem to have that covered, too. 

“Hey, right on time,” says Harry, smiling in greeting. 

Draco smiles back, slipping into the seat beside him. “Of course I’m on time. I make my own schedule. It’s one of the advantages of owning my own business, my job hours are what I say they are.” 

Despite being almost seventy, Harry’s retained his boyish features, although there are many more laugh lines about his eyes and his hair’s now more grey than black. Nevertheless, he’s distinguished, still turning heads when he’s out in public, and they make a striking couple, Draco reflects. 

Also, Harry knows his way around a cock. Life is good.

Harry chuckles. “If playing with potions is what you call a job,” he teases.

Draco shrugs, signalling the server. “It’s as much a job as consulting for the Ministry,” he says. “Which to my eyes looks like a posh way of saying you go out and do speeches when they need to look good.” 

Harry chuckles. “Yes, well, neither of us are where we thought we’d be at this point in our lives, are we?” He clasped Draco’s hand. “Still, everything’s turned out all right, I’d say.” 

Smiling back, Draco links their fingers. Being open like this about their relationship would have been unthinkable only a scant decade ago, but all Harry’s lobbying for equal rights has paid off, and now, no one gives two widowed shirt-lifters sitting in a tea house a second glance. “I can’t disagree.” 

“Well you _could_ ,” says Harry, tone arch. “You just won’t because you want me to buy you tea.” 

Draco smirks, and lifting Harry’s hand to his mouth, cradles it, kissing his inner wrist. Predictably, Harry’s eyes kindle, his mouth falling open on a sigh. “Am I not worth it?” he murmurs, eyebrow raised. 

“You know you are.” Harry clears his throat. “And unless you want me to take you home and enjoy you right now, you’ll stop looking at me like that.” 

Draco raises an eyebrow. “What? No threats to take me over this table in full view of all the other patrons?” He sighs. “Dear me, we _are_ getting old.” 

Harry snorts. “I’m not sure I could have taken you over a table at fifty,” he says. “All that Auror field work didn’t help my back.” 

“Don’t say that too loudly,” says Draco. “Word will get back to Weasley, and he’ll resign as Head Auror and they’ll try to draft you back into it.” 

Harry laughs, releasing Draco’s hand so the server can set out their usual order. “I shouldn’t worry. That’s Ron’s dream job, and no one’s prying it from him.”

“Oh, I don’t know,” says Draco, pouring tea for both of them. “Cygnus seems destined for great things in the Ministry, so he may give him a bit of a challenge. According to Scorpius, he’s trying to decide between the Aurors or the Unspeakables at the moment.” 

“Is he really? I’m surprised he hasn’t asked me about it, then.” Harry butters a scone, popping it into his mouth. 

Draco snorts. “Well, he knows what you’ll say, doesn’t he? You’re bound to urge him into the corps.” 

“Not if it doesn’t suit him, which I’m not sure it does.” Harry wipes his mouth with his napkin. “He strikes me as more the cerebral type, to be honest. Unspeakables may be a better bet, although I can also see him as a curse-breaker.” 

Draco hums. “Bill just retired from Gringotts, didn’t he?” 

“He did.” Harry smiles. “He and Fleur moved to Provence to retire. I’m sure he’d love to talk to Cygnus about it.” 

“I’ll let Scorpius know.” 

Harry clears his throat. “Speaking of Scorpius, how are he and Rose managing in France?” 

“Quite well, I’d say. His new broom business is doing well, she’s teaching at that new Potions Academy, and Daphne and Astoria are settled in school. They seem happy.” Draco hums. “Has Weasley said anything about it?” 

Harry snorts. “He still refuses to acknowledge he’s related to a Malfoy! Hermione’s about fed up with him. I know she’s visited them several times since they moved last year, and she’s working on him, but Ron can be stubborn.” 

Draco shrugs. “No more stubborn than Father was. Remember how he refused to speak to Scorpius after they got married? Thank Salazar Mother managed to talk some sense into him before—” Pausing, Draco takes a deep breath. “Well, you know.” 

Harry clasps his hand once more. “I do.” He sighs. “That the worse part of aging, I think, all the people who we lose along the way.” 

Draco nods, resolutely not looking at his left hand where the indentation of his wedding band can still be seen. Harry’s left ring finger has a similar faded impression, and Draco knows he misses Ginevra. The same way he misses Astoria. 

Sometimes he wonders if they will ever remarry. He thinks Harry would be willing to do it, although, at their ages it’s hardly as important as it used to be. They’ve had their heirs, they’re free to associate with whoever they please. He doesn’t need another ceremony. At least, that’s what he keeps telling himself. 

“Anyway,” says Harry, recapturing Draco’s attention, “that’s enough being maudlin. Let’s discuss a cheerful topic.” 

Draco inclines his head. “Like?” 

“Like what we’re doing this evening.” Harry leans in, drops his voice low. “I thought we could start with a massage, then see where that takes us.” 

“Who’s massaging whom?” 

“I thought we could take turns.” 

Draco laughs. “You realise the first person to get massaged will probably end up getting a _thorough_ one?” He smirks. “And I don’t know about you, but I can’t get it up twice in a night anymore, so—”

Harry shrugs. “Whoever gets massaged first tonight will give the massage tomorrow night.” 

“Or I can bring some Stamina Potion when I visit.” 

Harry grins. “And some Pain Potion for my back?” 

“I thought that was what the massage was for?” 

Harry chuckles. “Maybe we should stick with taking turns. That’s a bit more fair, don’t you think?” 

“Why, Harry, how egalitarian of—” Frowning, Draco stares. 

“What’s wrong?” asks Harry, twisting in his seat to turn around. “Oh! Cygnus! We were just talking about you.” 

Cygnus, his face uncharacteristically sober, approaches their table. “Mr Potter. Grandfather. I thought I’d find you here.” 

Draco raises an eyebrow. “Shouldn’t you be with Mother? I thought she said you were helping her with some gardening.” 

“I was, but…something’s happened.” Cygnus bites his lip, looking just like Scorpius had at that age. “Something I need to talk to someone about before, well, you’ll hear about it soon enough, I suppose.” 

Draco gestures to an empty seat. “Sit.” He glances at Harry. “Unless you’d rather do this privately—”

“No, it’s fine.” Cygnus sits, looking for all the world as if he’s about to make a break for the door. 

“Would you like some tea?” Harry asks, tone soothing. “Or something stronger, perhaps?” 

“Stronger would be fabulous,” Cygnus mutters, “but I can’t in my condition.” 

Draco’s eyes meet Harry’s, who looks as puzzled as he feels. Harry coughs. “I’ve often found it best to just say what’s on my mind when in…situations,” he says, tone gentle. “And we promise no judgement.” 

Cygnus snorts softly, but his shoulders relax infinitesimally. “All right,” he says. “Okay, so… I’m gay.” 

Draco hums. “Is that intended to be the big revelation? Because we’ve known that since you started at Hogwarts, Cygnus.” 

“No, that’s not it.” Cygnus raises his eyes to look at Draco. “It’s the starting point. I’m gay and I’ve been involved with someone and, well, something’s happened.” 

Draco nods in what he hopes is an encouraging way while Harry hands Cygnus a cup of tea. 

Accepting the cup, Cygnus takes a sip, sets it down, and says, “I’m pregnant.” 

The world narrows and his words seem to come from far away, as if Draco’s at the bottom of a well and someone’s shouting at him. Oh wait, someone _is_. 

“Draco!” Harry nudges him.

Draco blinks at Harry while Cygnus continues talking. 

“…not sure how Mum and Dad will take it, you know? Dad made a joke a couple of years ago about not having to worry about being a young grandfather at least, and I’m afraid he’ll insist I consider all my options like—”

Scorpius would be a grandfather. Salazar, that would make Draco a…. “No!” he blurts, and both Cygnus and Harry stare at him. 

Cygnus smiles. “Well I wasn’t seriously thinking about it, Grandfather, it was just a passing thought.” He pats Draco’s hand. “Thanks for the support, though.” 

Draco smiles weakly, wondering what he’s just supported. 

Harry clears his throat. “Draco’s right,” he says. “If you want this there’s no reason you can’t keep your baby, so no more talk about that.” 

Cygnus nods. “As I said, it was just a passing thought, one I’ve since discarded. Anyway, do you have any suggestions about how I tell Mum and Dad my news? Not to mention Daph and Tori.” 

“Your sisters will be fine, I’m sure,” says Harry. “Your parents are the ones to consider here.” 

“Right.” Cygnus sighs. 

“What about the other father?” Draco asks. “Is he in the picture?” 

“Oh yes.” A smile blooms across Cygnus’ face. “You remember Isidore Scamander?” 

“A Scamander?” says Harry as Draco processes. “They’re…quite the family. This would be Lorcan’s son?” 

“Yes he is.” Cygnus smiles, seeming more relaxed. “That’s right, you’re close with his grandmother, aren’t you?” 

“We were all in school together,” Harry says. His eyes flick to Draco and whatever he sees there makes them widen. He keeps talking. “Anyway, do his parents know yet?” 

“Oh no they’re awful at keeping secrets.” Cygnus shudders. “We’re planning on telling them last. But my parents will be hurt if we wait too long. At least I think they will—” He throws up his hands. “Honestly, I’ve no idea how they’ll take the news. I feel as if I should… _we_ should go and tell them in person.” 

“Probably wise,” says Harry. He glances again at Draco as if judging his mood. “What do you think, Draco? Should they tell Scorpius and Rose in person or by Floo? How would your father have best accepted this sort of news?” 

_That_ question jars Draco from his swirling thoughts. He laughs, imagining his father’s reaction. “Salazar, that would have been a sight to see.” He shakes his head. “Fortunately, Scorpius is nothing like his grandfather.” Reaching out, he pats Cygnus’ hand. “I suggest you tell them in person. It will give your mother a chance to coddle you a bit, which I’ve no doubt she’ll want to do.” He smirks. “Plus, your father will definitely want some interrogation time with young Mr Scamander.” 

Cygnus blanches. “Fucking hell, you’re right.” 

As Cygnus groans under his breath, Draco looks up and into Harry’s eyes. “When are you planning on telling them?” he asks. 

“When do you think I should?” Cygnus asks. “I’m about twelve weeks along. Healer Nott estimates the babies will be here in autumn.” 

Draco’s beginning to get accustomed to the rushing sound in his ears. “ _Babies_?” he wheezes.

“Oh yes.” Cygnus beams. “Didn’t I say? We’re having twins. They run in the Scamander family you see, and—” 

Draco’s fairly sure he’s beginning to hyperventilate, because Harry signals the server and a moment later she’s back with two brandies and more pastries. And as Cygnus happily tucks into the food, and Harry makes a toast, Draco resists the urge to down his brandy, instead sipping it and trying to breathe. 

A great-grandfather. _Him_! Salazar’s saggy balls.

* * *

Later that afternoon, when he’s home, Draco inspects himself in the mirror. He’s got a few lines around his eyes, yes, but surely they just make him distinguished, not old, right? 

He tries an experimental smile and the lines around his eyes and mouth deepen. "Fuck,” he mutters. Harry’s always making him laugh, the bastard! Their relationship is causing him to age prematurely! 

Checking his hair, he sighs. He’d assumed since he was so fair, grey (or silver as he preferred to call it) wouldn’t show up, but it is visible. Separating a few strands, he contemplates options. Hair colour? A Glamour? 

Straightening up, Draco turns to the side, studying his body. “Damn,” he mutters as he sees a bit of a paunch. He sucks it in, but that only lasts for a few seconds, until he has to breathe again. There must be some charm he can place on his clothes, although it’ll be obvious. Perhaps he should try something different… He snaps his fingers. “Muffy!” 

Muffy appears. “Yes, Master Draco?” 

Draco purses his lips. “Let Pansy Parkinson-Zabini know I need her immediately.” 

“At once, Master Draco.” 

When Pansy appears minutes later, Draco’s poking at a freckle on his neck. “I never used to have spots,” he grumbles, pointing to it. “I had perfect skin when I was younger!” 

Pansy sighs. “Right, what’s happened? You don’t usually have a crisis on days that are not your birthday.” 

Draco huffs. “I’m going to be a great-grandfather!” 

“Cygnus, I presume?” At Draco’s nod, Pansy smiles. “But that’s wonderful. I mean, he’s young, but—”

“Forget him, what about me?!” wails Draco. “I don’t want to look like a great-grandfather! I’m far too young for that!” 

“All right, calm down,” Pansy soothes. “Now, I presume I’m here because you finally want to try some of my youthful secrets?” 

“Obviously.” Draco rolls his eyes. “I have a date tonight, and with this news…Well, I’d like to look my best.” 

“Still with Potter?” At his nod, Pansy smirks. “Isn’t it time he makes an honest man of you?” 

“I’m a great-grandfather,” Draco mutters. “I’m too old for that shit.” 

“No one’s too old for a romantic wedding.” Reaching into her bag, Pansy pulls out a slew of bottles and jars, inspecting each one. Some she tosses back inside, some she leaves out on the vanity. “Right,” she finally says, “I think we need to start with some moisturiser and concealer.” 

Draco picks up a jar, inspecting it. “Is this stuff Muggle?” 

“Of course!” Pansy takes the jar from his suddenly nerveless fingers, opens it, and takes some out. “They know all the best cosmetic tricks. We’re decades behind them, darling. Now hold still, your skin is in desperate need of some exfoliating.” 

An hour later, Draco stares at his reflection. “Merlin,” he whispers, running his fingers over his smooth and unblemished skin. “I look fifty!” 

“I was going to say forty-five,” says Pansy. Her eyes meet his in the mirror. “Now, are you going to remember how to do all this? You need to do the deep cleaning a least once a week and use the moisturiser and concealer daily.” 

Draco nods, still entranced with how smooth his skin feels. “Definitely.” 

Harry’s reaction when he shows up at his cottage later that evening is gratifying. They don’t even get to the massage portion of the evening, ending up snogging and then frotting on the sofa. As they make their way towards Harry’s bed, Draco’s feeling himself again. 

Their lovemaking isn’t too vigorous; they tend to take their time these days, but it’s no less satisfying having Harry’s cock pressing insistently inside him, driving him mad with pleasure. When he thinks about it, he glances over at the conveniently placed mirror Harry keeps across from his bed to reassure himself he looks damn good. Actually, _they_ look good as they move together, and when Draco comes, he actually forgets how old he is for a moment. 

“You seem better,” Harry whispers as they curl together afterwards. 

“Better?” Draco asks. 

“Yes. Earlier I got the impression Cygnus’ news earlier gave you a bit of a turn.” 

Draco snorts. “Don’t be ridiculous. I’m thrilled for him.” 

“Twins, though,” Harry says. “That’s…wow.” 

Draco, his face tucked against Harry’s chest, whispers, “Do you…do you think I’ll be a decent great-grandfather?” 

“You…” Harry tilts Draco’s face up. “Is that what you’ve been worried about?” Chuckling softly, he kisses Draco. “You’re a brilliant father and fabulous grandfather, Draco. I have no doubt you’ll be an amazing great-grandfather.” 

“We’ll see.” Draco smiles against Harry’s mouth. “Now, maybe we should get in some extra cuddling time. After all, there won’t be time once we’re babysitting twins, Merlin help us.” 

Humming, Harry rolls him onto his back. “Good plan.”

* * *

Although Scorpius takes Cygnus’ news well, it’s Rose who seems to have an issue with being a grandmother while in her early forties. Draco can sympathise. He’s waging a war against new wrinkles daily and it’s time consuming. Plus, Pansy’s unguents can only do so much. 

On top of all that, Harry’s become oddly secretive after their evening of almost massage, and Draco wonders if he’s found someone younger. He is _Harry Potter_ , and there’s no lack of potential suitors willing to take him on, after all.

As news of Cygnus’ pregnancy gets out, the press goes wild, Harry gets quieter, and Draco gets more desperate. Everyone is cooing over Cygnus and Isidore, who are, admittedly, adorable, so no one notices Draco’s…experiments. 

Well, no one except his mother. 

“Draco, what are you doing?” she asks once afternoon over tea. “You’ve been acting strangely.” She narrows her eyes. “And what are you putting on your face?” 

“I don’t know what you mean, Mother.” Narcissa raises an eyebrow, and Draco’s immediately fifteen again. He feels himself flushing and, with a sigh, he capitulates. “I’ve been trying some Muggle cosmetics,” he mumbles.

“Cos—” She blinks. “But why?” 

“Because I’m going to be a great-grandfather!” Draco bursts out. “ _And_ I’m beginning to look old! And I think…I think Harry’s dating someone else, someone younger.” 

Narcissa sips her tea and silence reigns for a moment. “Let me answer the last concern first,” she finally says. “I know for a fact Harry’s head over heels for you and has been for years. I’m not convinced there’s anything that can pry him from your side now.” 

Slightly mollified, Draco huffs. “We’ll see.” 

“Quite.” Narcissa hums. “As for getting older, what’s the alternative? You could have died at nineteen and been a young ghost forever. Would that be preferable?” 

“Of course not.” Draco shakes his head. “I know you’re right, yet—”

“Draco.” Narcissa leans across the table, taking his hand. “With age comes wisdom. Don’t waste the time you have left wishing you could be younger, spend it loving Harry and enjoying the life you have left.” She winks. “Trust me, you don’t need Muggle cosmetics to hold onto him. Age and experience will beat youth and innocence every time.” 

“Mother!” Draco laughs. “You’re so Slytherin.” 

Narcissa inclines her head. “So are you, dear. So are you. Now, what’s your plan?” 

Exhaling, Draco nods. “You’re right. I’ve been an idiot. I need to worry less about how I look and more about keeping my man. My plan?” He smirks. “Seduce Harry all over again.” 

Happily, Harry proves amenable to seduction, and when Draco invites him over to his flat for dinner, and greets him wearing nothing but a skimpy apron, they end up shagging in the kitchen and forgetting the meal Draco’s planned, instead nibbling on snacks in bed. 

“It’s good to have you back,” Harry says as they feed each other titbits of fruit and cheese. 

Draco frowns. “What does that mean? You’re the one who’s been too busy to see me.” 

“Me?” Harry blinks. “I’ve been this close to asking you if you’d found someone else. You’ve been…preoccupied with Muggle lotions.” 

“I…” Draco exhales. “I’ll admit to being preoccupied, yes.” He looks over at Harry, who looks almost unbearably handsome in the candlelight. “I’m going to be a great-grandfather! I’m old! And you’re gorgeous and could find someone else in a second to marry and I’ve been—”

“Stop. First, you’re not old, you’re distinguished.” Harry straddles him, staring down at him. “Second, _you’re_ the gorgeous one, even without putting that goop on your face; haven’t you seen the looks you get when we’re out? They’re not staring at _me_ , I promise. And third—” He stops and exhales. 

Draco’s hands settle on Harry’s sill trim hips. “Yes? Third?”

“There is a reason I’ve been busy. I had to get something from my parents’ vault, and you know what a production the goblins make whenever I go to Gringotts, even after all this time.” Harry swallows, looking nervous, and Draco’s heart’s thudding, and when Harry extends his hand and a small velvet box flies towards it, Draco goes still. 

Harry opens the box to reveal a ring and Draco’s mind stops. 

“Draco Malfoy, will you mar—?”

“Yes!” Draco rears up, toppling Harry onto his back and peppering kisses onto his face. “Yes I will.” 

Laughing, Harry cups Draco’s face, kissing him deeply, properly, and as the kiss morphs into something heart-stopping and serious, Draco finally slows down and breathes. He’s a Malfoy, he’s a great-grandfather, and he’s going to marry his love. Life is good.

* * *

It takes hours when the day finally arrives, and of course they’re all there: Narcissa, looking serene, Rose and Scorpius, Cygnus’ sisters, Molly, Arthur, Hermione, Ron, and the entire Lovegood clan. Draco hangs back, worrying and wondering, Harry a sold presence at his side. Wizard pregnancies are less rare than they were, but still potentially lethal.

When the Healer emerges smiling, everyone breathes a bit easier, and when Draco’s finally allowed inside to meet his great-grandchildren a day later, he’s a bit shocked at the rush of love he feels when he sees their tiny faces. 

“Hope it’s okay,” Cygnus says, a tired smile on his face, his newly-minted husband at his side, “but we borrowed your name. Xenophilius Draco. His brother is Lucius Newt.” 

Draco accepts Xenophilius, Harry takes Lucius, and together they rock their bundles, with what Draco imagines can only be fatuous looks on their faces. And actually, he’s all right with that. 

Looking down into his great-grandson’s eyes, Draco smiles. Life really is good. “Welcome, Xenophilius Draco,” he whispers. “Something tells me we’re going to be great friends.”

~Fin~

**Author's Note:**

> This work is a part of an anonymous fest and the creator will be revealed no later than March 30. Please comment here or at [our community on Dreamwidth.](https://hp-goldenage.dreamwidth.org/61019.html) Thanks! ♥


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